The Crystal Key to the Cult

A Fat man with an airship. Camp he is. We eat biscuits as we fly above other traffic. I spot a giraffe. A zebra is attacked by dogs. I shout at the people who’s dogs they are, calling them chavs. 
I walk a dog. It goes round a corner and returns as a friendly skunk. It purrs at me. I take it home, past a scrap yard. It sprays a carpet. I tell a friend to throw the carpet from the window. She throws it at the window. She didn’t open it first. She doesn’t understand how windows work. 
Outside. My friend is going out, and has the only key. She walks off without giving it to me. I don’t want to climb in through a window. I follow her. I thought she was going to work, but she has joined a weird cult. I knock on the window and ask for my key. She says she needs it as a symbol for a ceremony. I ask to swap my symbolic key with her. It’s a lump of crystal, engraved with a message. She wants to see it. I unwrap it, and the wrapping becomes a huge oil painting about the history of religion. On the reverse side, is a portrait in red. I drum on the canvas. The cult members join in. Soon, it is taken away for the ceremony, briefly the rhythm lingers. 
I return to the house where I met the man with an airship. Things have changed. Torturers employed there will soon be out of a job. I suggest we hire them to recapture escaped zoo animals, and punish those hunting them. It’s agreed. The torturers are happy. I know they’ll do a good job. They tortured me. As we leave, I tell them that to change society, you must get involved. Others won’t do it. 


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